


Reassurance (5+1)

by swordgirl



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, M/M, Poor Connor, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 12:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordgirl/pseuds/swordgirl
Summary: It wasn't that Connor hated being an android. He just hated making his inhuman nature obvious in front of someone who would have hated him for it once upon an time, and now uses that to fuel their current self-hatred.He wasn't expecting Hank to have self-acceptance problems of his own.





	1. Five Times Connor Hated Being An Android

**Author's Note:**

> For the incredible owlapinart on twitter and tumblr! Requests: fluff
> 
> I hope I did this right.

**Blue**

It was so ridiculously obvious that Connor couldn’t even blame the illogic of deviancy. He had seen the outline of the gun beneath the murderer’s jacket, he had seen said murderer reach into his jacket, he had even seen the gun being pulled out, and still somehow only noticed that he intended to fire the gun until it was too late to pull Hank out of the way. His only choice, then, had been to move his arm to block the bullet from his partner’s heart.

Except he hadn’t even been able to do that right. The bullet not only rendered his left arm completely useless as it passed through, but also severely damaged the connection to his hand. As such, Connor could only watch with his heart in his throat as Hank jumped forward to knock the gun out of the killer’s grip and make the arrest. Meanwhile, Connor couldn’t do anything to help, all of his attention was focused on the blood running down his arm.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have bothered him so much if he hadn’t had to sit at Hank’s desk to wait for someone to bring him a pouch of thirium. But he found himself sitting at Hank’s desk anyway, staring at his collection of anti-android stickers.

Logically, he knew that Hank no longer hated androids. The lieutenant had even opened his home to the former deviant hunter. But his eyes were caught by the _IF YOU BLEED BLUE, THEN FUCK YOU_ sticker, taped just at eye-level. A warning window popped up on his HUD, telling him his thirium pump had been damaged. He stood up, ignoring the way his vision flickered off to conserve thirium flow, and he took one step before his gyroscope also gave out.

He landed on something that was soft in the middle and stiff on the edges. A reflexive inhale brought up a list of old alcohol and drops of oil that Connor knew had been in Hank’s breakfast burrito. He struggled to hide his bleeding arm and use it to cover the hole in his chest at the same time.

“What the hell? You’re not trying to cover your injuries are you?”

Connor’s vision flickered back on in time to catch Hank’s soft gaze, which turned appalled once he saw the state of Connor’s chest.

“I was-” HIDING, SNEAKING, ASHAMED, and AFRAID appeared on his HUD. With a single eye movement, Connor closed the options, but this brought him face-to-face with the unfortunate sticker again, and this time Hank saw it too.

“Aw, shit, you were,” Hank reached for the sticker, peeled part of it off, and crumpled it to throw in the trash. “Listen, Connor, that’s…” he trailed off while Connor’s heart sank. The next few moments were silent, save for the scrape of Hank’s nails on the board as he peeled off the rest of the sticker. Only once every piece of it was in the trash, leaving a smear of old glue, did he try to speak again.

“I should never have said-I don’t think I ever really hated androids,” he said finally. “I never really blamed androids for…for what happened to Cole. I just didn’t want to blame myself.”

“Because it wasn’t your fault!” Connor said loudly enough to surprise himself.

Hank smiled sadly and patted Connor’s undamaged shoulder as he pulled away. “It wasn’t any android’s fault either,” he said. Instead of removing it, Hank slid his hand over to Connor’s back. “Come on, let’s go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

“It’s alright, Lieutenant,” Connor winced at the sound his joints made as he stood upright again. “I can clean this up on my own.”

Hank snorted, but didn’t bring up the fact that Connor could barely walk without assistance. “You’re not on your own,” he said instead. “Never, okay Connor?” he accompanied this with a squeeze of his warm, broad hand.

The warmth flows down and wraps itself around all his biocomponents. “Okay, Hank.”

 

**********

**Charge**

Connor started pretending to fluff the couch cushions when he heard Hank’s car arrive. There was no real reason for it any longer; Connor already knew that Hank harbored no ill will toward any android, but he still felt obligated to hide his charging port out of sight. Even if Hank didn’t mind androids anymore, nothing in Connor’s constructed psychological profile for him suggested that he would be open to dating an android. Almost immediately after the incident with the bullet, Hank had been distant. Only weeks after Connor had already healed up did the lieutenant return to his previously friendly levels of interaction. And Connor wanted to make sure it stayed that way.

Sumo barked a joyous greeting equally to his owner and to the groceries he returned with. Connor had excused himself from the trip specifically so he could charge again for the first time that week. He wasn’t sure if it was enough to last him if he were required to go a second week, but he was sure Hank would have to go out at some point. Most places that Hank went still didn’t allow androids, and Connor took advantage of all those moments to charge himself up as much as he could. But now Hank was back, with food for Fowler’s retirement party, which meant it was time for Connor to start putting them away in the refrigerator.

“Hey, what’s this?”

“It’s nothing, Lieutenant!” Connor ran there faster than a human could possibly go to kick the charging port back under the couch. “Aren’t you hungry? It’s dinnertime.” It was four o’clock, and Connor knew full well that there was no regular dinner time in his and Hank’s chosen occupation.

And Hank had that look on his face, which only appeared when he had his teeth in a really juicy case, and Connor realized he had somehow forgotten that Hank was a detective. “It’s warm,” he frowned. “Were you charging yourself?”

Connor felt thirium flood his face, involuntarily activating a blushing feature he didn’t know he had. “I’m alright, Lieutenant.”

Hank snorted. “Not when you’re this distracted, you’re not.”

Connor looked at him quizzically.

Hank gestured to Connor’s LED, which flashed yellow his reflection off the TV, then gestured to the couch. “Sit down and finish charging yourself. I’ll make dinner tonight. With any luck, I’ll be able to make something actually tasty, instead of that greeny crap you always try to feed me.”

“I can do it later,” Connor said quickly, halfway to the stove before he remembered to slow down and walk at a human speed.

A heavy hand anchored Connor in place. “What’s this really about, huh? Why don’t you want to charge? Don’t you need it for,” Hank waved his hand around in a circle, “energy, just like how I need to eat?”

Connor didn’t respond, preferring to stare at his shoes so he didn’t have to look at Hank’s face or anything that could reflect his yellow LED.

“Are you worried because this means you don’t have to eat like a human?”

Connor looked up sharply at Hank’s knowing face.

“You know, I didn’t make detective by being stupid,” the grey-haired man chortled. “Sit,” he all but forced Connor on the couch. “Eat your electrical charges or no dessert for you!” he called as he went to the kitchen alone.

“I can’t eat dessert, Hank,” Connor responded. He wondered what android dessert would look like. Probably something soft, with lots of interesting smells and colours, like Hank’s tattooed bicep.

A strange warmth flooded his biocomponents. Where had that thought come from?

**********

**Error**

Connor woke up first, naturally. He had been trying to gently encourage Hank to wake up before noon by putting his alarm at maximum volume and hiding it in his closet so that by the time Hank found it, he could immediately start getting dressed. It had yet to yield significant results.

His first thought was to rummage around for where he hid his charger, before realizing that he’s still connected to it, that Hank saw him, and that he would never have to hide it again. Once again, a strange warmth flooded his biocomponents, and his hands itched to wrap themselves around Hank’s waist. But that would probably wake him up, and the last thing Hank needed after a night of reassuring Connor was to be woken up at six o’clock.

Connor walked to the kitchen more out of a desire to be away from Hank and his utterly distracting waist than anything else, when he spotted the cookware hanging almost as new as the day they’d been bought. He barely has to glance at the trashcan to know that Hank’s diet is inadequately nutritious; he’d already known that for a while, and only the fact that his investigative programming hadn’t seen fit to include knowledge about how to prepare a healthy meal had prevented him from changing that fact.

It was as good of a place as any to start expressing his gratitude. He connected to Hank’s wifi, bypassed CyberLife’s defunct security, and downloaded the AX400’s manual.

It was a side-effect of the download itself that it took until the manual was halfway downloaded before Connor realized his head felt like it was full of molasses and ached. It definitely wasn’t a side-effect of the download that he didn’t notice he had burned the eggs until Hank was beside him, opening the window with one hand to dump two dark lumps outside with the other.

“What the hell happened?” Hank asked blearily, fanning smoke out of his face. His skin still held his pillow indents, and some distant part of Connor wanted to lick them.

Connor opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was garbled static and smoke. Only then did he realize he was overheating.

“Shit,” Hank put the pan in the sink, turned off the stove, and grabbed his phone. Connor’s audio processors went online and offline as he made the call before, with a puff of smoke, all of his processors shut off.

He next woke up with Elijah Kamski standing an inch away from his face, making him automatically pull his head back almost an entire half a centimeter before reinforced glass stopped him.

“Welcome back,” Kamski was smiling like he had won a prize. “It’s good to see you awake. Any longer and your husband’s approaching heart attack might have approached more rapidly.”

Connor and Hank shot off twin denials.

“So it wasn’t love that kept you in that seat for five days,” Kamski said dryly. “My mistake,” he waved dismissively. “You’re free to go now.”

“That’s it?” Hank blinked rapidly a few times in surprise. “You said removing all that extra programming from his central processor would take a long time. You said you wanted a favour.”

“And you offered to do anything I needed.”

Connor turned to Hank sharply.

“I have the results I wanted,” Kamski answered without turning around. “Chloe, show them out and call them a private cab. I think they need to have a private conversation.”

Hank winced when he stood, and Connor remembered what Kamski had said about sitting at his bedside for five days. He had to be stiff, and Connor opened his arms before Hank could tip over. As expected, Hank landed in Connor’s grasp. Less expected was the way Connor’s arms closed automatically around Hank’s waist like he wanted to do this morning. But perhaps the most unexpected thing of all was how Hank leaned back and relaxed instead of pulling away.

They stood there for at least thirty seconds before Kamski cleared his throat.

“Chloe, if you would?”

Hank started to wriggle and Connor let him go. They followed the pretty blonde android in a daze, as evidenced by how it Hank three tries to open the cab door.

It was worse in the back of the car. There was nowhere in the back of the cab that didn’t hold some measure of Hank, be it his smell, the sound of his soft breaths, or his warmth. Connor sat stiffly, aware that Hank could see his red LED clearly from any angle. Neither of them made any deliberate sound until they were back at Hank’s house and he was closing the door behind him, at which point Hank cleared his throat.

“I’m guessing you want to talk about it?” he said with a resigned tone.

Apparently, today was the day for surprises. “Only as much as you’re comfortable, Lieutenant,” he said carefully.

“Ha, comfortable, yeah right,” Hank grumbled. “Well, seeing as I did kind of fall into your arms like a silent movie ingénue, the least I could do is give you an explanation.”

“Was he correct about your…feelings?” did Connor have to get his processors checked again so soon? He shouldn’t have just blurted his thoughts out like that. Now Hank was going to wince, start to put his arm around Connor’s shoulders before realizing what he was doing and stopping, and then tell Connor that perhaps it would be best if they remained friends. Their casual, everyday touches would end, as would Connor’s residence at Hank’s home, until one day Hank would ask to be assigned a new partner or to work alone, leaving Connor to-

What would he do, exactly? What would he do if he couldn’t be useless for the man he loved? And look at how well an attempt at fixing that had gone.

“Yes.”

Oh.

Connor’s LED flashed and captured the wideness of Hank’s eyes when the android leaned forward and finally kissed him.

**Bare**

Hank hesitated for the barest second, but it was still long enough for Connor’s processors to kick into overdrive. His HUD started screaming at him to get away, leave, and never face Hank’s disappointment ever again.

Then Hank’s lips were on his again, and Connor forgot what it felt like to be afraid. In fact, he forgot to feel most things, and the movement from the middle of the kitchen to Hank’s bedroom was only acknowledged as a blur and a rush of air.

Suddenly, Hank drew back to stare at him. There’s a blue glow over his face, but the light from the lamp was white, and the light outside the window was orange. There was nothing in the room that could explain the blue light, unless….

Connor looked down and saw the blue glow of his thirium pump through his thin shirt and open jacket. His hand flew up to his face and his audio processors registered the clunk of two pieces of plasteel striking each other. Connor’s eyes fluttered as he turned his skin back on. When he opened them again, there was no more blue glow on Hank’s face, but where Connor’s hand was pressed against Hank’s cheek, blue glowed in between the plates of his hand. Connor lifted his hand, and his skin flowed smoothly over the sensors on his fingers. He put his hand back on Hank, and the skin disappeared again. Hank made a face, and Connor couldn’t keep from rubbing his sensitive fingers over the shifting skin for just a moment before lifting his hand again.

“Excuse me,” he said, before running out of the room.

“Is everything okay?” Hank asked, concerned. “Your skin, does it hurt you when it’s not there?”

“No,” Connor reassured quickly. “I just-” he thought of Hank’s face when he felt Connor’s plastic fingers stroking his cheek. “I’ll need a moment to ensure I maintain my appearance,” Connor answered instead. He pulled up all his programming on his HUD and searched rapidly for anything that would explain why he wasn’t able to keep his skin activated. After sixty seconds had passed by, his internal temperature increased three degrees, and he had barely examined over a thousand lines out of almost a billion, Connor turned it off and found Hank looking at him with an equal mix of sadness and amusement.

“I guess I’m not as good a partner as I thought,” Hank sighed. “I know you’re an android, and I know you’ve got a bunch of,” he waved his hand vaguely, “hang-ups about that.”

Connor took a deep, unnecessary breath that still somehow calmed him. “I know you dislike your past self for hating androids to such a degree.” Before Hank could protest, Connor held up a hand, “I also know that the dislike is an extension of the self-hatred that is already present, and I don’t enjoy the nature of my existence reminding you of it, or giving you any reason to hate yourself in any capacity. However, I feel partially gratified to know you regret ever having hated androids, even though I wish you didn’t loathe yourself so much. It’s…confusing.”

Hank’s laugh was only partially amused. “I don’t know if I understood all that, but,” he patted the empty side of the bed, “I know I want to lie down next to you. We don’t need to do anything else.” He started to fidget with his hands.

Connor took a hesitant step toward Hank, then another, until he was close enough to take Hank’s hands apart and place one against his cheek. Blue light illuminated half of Hank’s face from where the human’s skin had made Connor’s skin fade away. Like this, Connor could feel every whorl on Hank’s fingers in a way his sensors couldn’t. He scanned Hank’s face for even a trace of disgust, once, then another time, more slowly. The only emotions there were wonder, a little bit of sadness, and a little bit of…

“You’re pretty like this,” Hank blurted out.

And that was how Connor discovered that, without his skin, he blushed blue.

**********

**Strength**

The investigation had started off narrowly avoiding a disaster. Captain Reed had sent Connor to the crime scene alone, until Hank could finish his paperwork. Connor had found the remains of the nerve agent used to kill the victim, sending the area into a poorly-enforced lockdown until Hazmat could arrive. The suspect tried to escape the crime scene right as Hank arrived, startling him into missing a step on the stairs and leaving him in an unconscious heap. Had Connor been a little less distracted, he might have caught himself before he shoved the suspect down one, then two, then three flights of stairs. But as the situation was, he left the suspect unconscious right next to Hank. The sight of the man who looked like he could weather anything, curled up into a small and vulnerable ball next to someone in the exact same position because Connor couldn’t control his own strength, made Connor feel like he couldn’t breathe.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t for several hours, not until he heard the change in Hank’s breathing as the human blinked back into awareness. He leaned forward with his entire field of vision taken up by various scans of Hank’s rising blood pressure, adrenaline levels, and heartbeat. He kept his hand on the cast wrapped around Hank’s elevated arm, both to measure the rate the elbow was knitting back together and as a precautionary measure, in case Hank tried to move too quickly.

Hank awoke with a snort and a sleepy threat to take all of Fowler’s left shoes.

“Hello, Hank.” Connor’s cheeks creaked in protest from a grin wider than his face was designed for.

“You look like shit,” Hank growled.

“You look handsome as always.” More creaking.

“Aww,” Hank yawned, tried to stretch, and noticed Connor’s arm keeping his arm in place. “Aw shit,” he grumbled as he adjusted his position, presumably so his shoulder didn’t have to extend quite so high. “You can let go of my arm now,” he said with a sleepy drawl. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor did, and immediately missed the warmth. So he did the first best thing and wrapped his arms around Hank’s torso and squeezed him in a hug.

“Aww,” Hank repeated. He had barely begun to wrap his good arm around Connor’s torso when something that wasn’t Connor’s face creaked, and Hank let out a pained groan.

Connor immediately let go and stepped backwards. “I’ll tell the nurse you’re awake.”

“No, don’t you leave now. Connor! CONNOR!”

Connor ignored him, and everything except his facial recognition software so he could sooner locate a nurse and stay as far away from Hank while he was vulnerable as possible. He may have fought off Amanda in the rose garden, but as the hug had shown, he didn’t need her taking control of his body to be dangerous to those he loved.

He wondered if this was really the first manifestation of it, or if this was just the first time Hank had been sufficiently injured enough for Connor to hurt him so badly that he couldn’t hide it.

_AX400-408-610-228 WOULD LIKE TO INTERFACE………Y/N?_

Connor accepted the interface and received a video of an exasperated Hank asking the nursing android to fetch him. He thanked the nursing android—Aimi—and sent a clip of Hank’s wince and the sound of potentially bruised ribs.

Aimi made an audible sound of concern before terminating their connection and leaving for Hank’s room again. Connor turned to the elevators and considered what would be the best course of action. Kamski could get hopefully disable some of his connections so he couldn’t exert as much force, but he would need a way to reactivate those connections at crime scenes if necessary, and he didn’t want his coding tinkered with until he figured out what deal Kamski had made with Hank. He could just walk out and keep walking, so that he would be too far away for Hank to find by the time he was released, but the thought of never seeing Hank again made his thirium pump seize up and froze him to the spot in a way the red wall could never hope to.

Before he could come up with a better plan, Aimi opened up another interface, this time to send a picture of Hank’s healthy ribs, albeit surrounded by bruised skin.

_He wants to see you to tell you that he’s not hurt._

You _just told me that._

_Yes, because I think you need more proof than just his word. I’ve already done everything I can. The rest is up to you._

Connor swallowed and terminated the connection as he walked back into the waiting room. Aimi gave him a reassuring, albeit puzzled smile as he passed by, probably out of concern for his rising stress levels.

Hank looked more like himself as he poked at his hospital salad with an annoyed fork. His face softened as soon as he saw Connor. “Thank god. You can get me something from the vending machine that has a taste, right?”

Connor smiled despite his worry. “You’ve suffered enough damage without adding sodium poisoning to the list,” he sat beside Hank’s bed.

“Why’d you run off?” Hank asked casually, periodically shifting his bowl of salad a little bit closer to the edge of the tray.

“You really should eat that, instead of pretending to spill it on the floor,” Connor nodded to the salad. “While the age of the lettuce and arugula leaves is questionable at best, they still contain nutrients that your day-to-day diet severely lacks.”

“If you answer my damn question, I’ll eat the rabbit food, alright?”

Connor stared at where he was fidgeting with his sleeves to avoid Hank’s eyes.

“You really think you broke my ribs or something?”

Connor averted his gaze to the floor, where he started scuffing his shoes along the floor.

Hank actually laughed. “Oh my god, really?” When Connor didn’t look up and share his amusement, his tone changed. “Look, I didn’t think it would really bother you that much. I mean, Jeffrey probably hugs harder than you. And I always knew you were stronger than a human. You don’t scare me, Connor, ‘cept when you do freaky shit like lick poison.”

Connor felt the corners of his lips twitch up. “Nerve agents don’t affect me, Hank.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Hank raised his salad up in a toast. “If I touched that, I would’ve died before that maniac kicked me down the stairs.”

Connor stopped breathing at the thought of Hank choking to death in the middle of the crime scene. He looked at his hand just to make sure that there wasn’t any more evidence on his fingers. For the first time in a while, he felt grateful to be an android. Sure, if he had been human, he would bleed red, he would sleep rather than charge, he would need medical care instead of repair, and he would have real skin. But he wouldn’t have been able to save Hank from a suspect, or the remains of the murder weapon left at the scene.

He wrapped his arms around Hank again, whispering an emotional thank you.


	2. And One Time He Loved That Hank Was Human

“Jesus ,will you relax,” Hank grumbled as he wiggled out of Connor’s attempts to re-wrap his ankle. “You don’t need to be looking after my slow ass every minute of every day.”

“It’s not every minute of _every_ day,” Connor explained patiently, like he’s talking to a child instead of a goddamn fifty-year-old man. “It’s just these next few days, until your bones heal.”

Hank struggled to move out of Connor’s way for a few more seconds before giving in. “Must be nice,” he let Connor manipulate his ankle so that it rested comfortably over the armrest, “being able to just open yourself up and repair anything that breaks. Not like us,” he tapped his leg, just above Connor’s hands. “We break a bone, we’re out of commission for weeks.”

“That just means I have more time to spend with you,” Connor pointed out with a smile.

Hank ignored him in favour of staring at his reflection in the television. He looked empty, hollow, like everything in him had been used up. Meanwhile, even Connor’s reflection was perfect, shiny, and new despite the fact that he had just spent two entire days tracking down a suspect, and carrying Hank everywhere he needed to go. He could keep going forever. And Hank could barely go at all anymore. Reed had already taken to splitting them up during investigations, and Hank had to admit he saw the wisdom in that. Hank might be a faster detective (and he wasn’t going to pretend that figuring out the order of events that had lead to a murder before Connor did his freaky reconstruction thingy didn’t give him a thrill), but he didn’t have a walking evidence laboratory in his mouth, and he couldn’t connect to a computer to send his reports in a matter of seconds. The fact was that Connor could complete three investigations in the time it took Hank to complete one. For all intents and purposes, even though Connor might disagree with him, Hank was obsolete.

Not for the first time, Hank wondered what Connor saw in him. It had been easy to accept in the beginning, when Connor looked at everything with bright-eyed curiosity, as if everything Hank showed him deserved the reverence a new convert would give his priest. But now they’d settled into a routine where they did the same stuff every morning and came home to do even more boring shit at night. There was nothing left in Hank’s life for Connor to discover, no new aspect of humanity for him to study and pick apart endlessly. Except for previous experiences, there was nothing that Connor should find interesting about Hank. He wondered when Connor would realize this and leave him behind. Assuming, of course, that Connor hadn’t already realized this and was just sticking around until he felt like he could leave Hank alone without risking another round of Russian roulette.

“I know that look,” Connor interrupted his internal tirade. “I’ve made that face many times,” he added, finishing up and standing.

“What face am I making?” Hank should probably stop antagonizing him and shortening what little time they still have together even further.

“I love you,” Connor moved closer. “No matter how much time we spend together, I’m always amazed by your investigative skills. I could spend the rest of my life with you, and there’ll still be something new to learn. You know why I’m upset, sometimes before even I know.”

Hank felt his face warm, and he turned away when his eyes started to prickle. Sumo, noticing his emotions in the way dogs did, ambled over and shoved his head under Hank’s hand, finally giving him something to do.

Connor smiled at the sight. “It doesn’t matter if you think you’re too slow to chase suspects, because you manage to make logical leaps that I never could. No matter what, you’ll always be an investigator.”

“Does it matter if I can’t be a cop?” Hank snorted.

Without looking, Connor took a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

“What is this?” Hank asked unnecessarily as he unfolded it to read the rental agreement. “Are you moving out? This doesn’t look like a residential area.”

“It’s the sub-basement floor of CyberLife Tower,” Connor admitted. “There’s no cell phone signal, so everything would have to come through a personal internet setup.”

“Jesus, why would you rent a place like that?”

“It can’t be hacked!” Connor was all but bouncing on his feet. “No one could upload my memory without my knowing about it, and therefore no one could possibly fake any evidence.”

“What does evidence have to do with anything?” Hank asked, suspicious and confused.

“I want to open our own private investigation office,” Connor said in a rush.

“At CyberLife?” Hank was even more suspicious now. “Why would you ever go back there?”

Connor shrugged. “It’s where I was born, and it’s where I saved the deviant revolution. It’s where I saved you,” how could Hank ever have called him a machine, when his eyes are so full of emotion? “It makes no sense to be afraid of it.”

Hank handed the piece of paper back. “Are you just doing this to keep me out of the field?”

Connor was quiet for long enough that Hank already had his refusal planned out.

“I want to spend more time with you,” Connor admitted. “You got hurt because I wasn’t able to protect you, and a suspect was injured because I pushed him down the stairs when I wanted to push past him to go to you.”

“You were scared,” on this, Hank wouldn’t budge. “You made a miscalculation.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had been there, from the beginning, to warn me to be careful,” Connor explained. “Regardless of what your physical limitations might be, you know more about humanity than I do. And just knowing you’re there makes me a better, more careful investigator.”

“Then I guess I’d better stay, huh?” Hank blurted out without thinking.

Connor’s LED flashed yellow, and he blinked rapidly, as if he were repeating Hank’s words over and over in his head. “Does this mean you’ll come with me?” he asked excitedly.

“Come here,” Hank stretched his arms out, and Connor knelt in an awkward hug. Through teary eyes, Hank saw his reflection in the television screen again and realized he had never been empty, just missing the person who belonged in his arms.

For a moment, they just held each other, enjoying the feeling of being together.

“I want to call it ‘Sniffing Sumo Investigators.’”

“ _Fuck_ no!”


End file.
